The sixth and final drill.
Coach Owens’ voice rang over the pitch like a final decree.
"This’ll be the last set. Everyone’s had their run."
Julian didn’t respond. He just stared down the field, every muscle tight, coiled like a spring.
He’d scored two. Missed three.
One more goal—and he’d hit the 50% success rate to complete the system quest.
One more chance. Or it was failure.
His breath came slow and controlled, but his pulse hammered in his ears.
The midfielders took their spots—Felix and Leo again. Both had fire in their eyes.
"Let’s give him something clean," Leo murmured.
Felix nodded. "One more. Last bullet."
Leo pushed up with calm, confident steps, drawing pressure from the defenders. Felix stayed wide, flaring out to stretch the shape.
Julian broke off his marker early, ghosting into the pocket between the last two defenders.
One turned to Felix. The other pressed Leo.
Felix saw it instantly. No hesitation.
A low, sharp pass whipped across the turf.
Julian met the ball in stride.
No time to waste. No time to think.
[Activating: Rule The Pitch – Lv.1: +10 Attributes]
[Activating: Martial Memory – Active Mode: 5 Seconds]
A direct martial technique—pure force channeled into a single strike.
Julian took one touch to position the ball—
Then struck it with everything.
The sound cracked across the pitch like a gunshot.
The ball tore through the air, no spin, no arc—
Just a straight bullet screaming toward the goal.
Cael didn’t even move.
He blinked, flinched—too late. The ball punched into the back of the net, ripping into the nylon with savage precision.
Julian stood there, chest rising, shoulders tense, pain humming through his legs from the strain.
Cael stared back at him, jaw slightly open—then grinned.
"Yeah," he said. "Try harder, huh?"
Julian smirked back, sweat rolling down his temple like rain over steel. His lungs burned. His muscles twitched from the overexertion.
At least score more than 50 persen
Julian didn’t even hesitate.
A familiar surge of light rippled through his mind—digital yet almost divine.
You can scan a person to view their attribute totals. Further levels reveal greater detail.
His eyes widened slightly. A new tool. A new way to measure enemies... and allies.
Naturally, there was only one person to test it on.
Julian turned his head, eyes flicking to Cael.
[Activating Scan Lv.1...]
A transparent screen hovered in front of him.
Total Attributes: 209
Julian’s breath caught for a split second.
That was elite-level. National youth academy level. Not just some strong school player—Cael was built for the pro path.
And this guy was in his school?
Julian clenched his jaw, half in awe, half in excitement.
He whispered internally, "ASHI... why can’t I see his individual stats or skills?"
[Scan Lv.1 is limited, Host.]
[Level it up to access deeper information. Higher levels unlock full attribute spreads, skills, and history.]
Julian nodded to himself, still staring at the numbers.
He’d known Cael was sharp. But this?
A voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
"You alright?" Cael said, stepping closer. "Looked like you spaced out for a sec."
Julian blinked and quickly shook it off, letting a relaxed grin return to his face.
"Haha, nah—just a little gassed. Too much thinking."
Cael chuckled. "Careful. Overthinking’ll kill your first touch."
"Guess I’ve still got a few things to learn," Julian replied smoothly.
His blood was pumping like drums in war.
209 total attributes.
And Julian would have to face him again and again.
Because monsters were meant to be hunted.
The drills didn’t stop.
Just sweat and repetition.
They moved into physical routines—dribbling, passing, shooting.
And here, Julian’s shine dimmed. The gap between talent and technique reared its head.
His first touch was off.
His passing was mistimed.
His dribble lacked polish.
More than once, the ball rolled too far ahead or stuck under his foot like gum.
Some players threw glances. A few raised brows. No one said anything out loud, but Julian could feel it:
He gritted his teeth and kept going.
Because martial arts had taught him long ago—form without foundation was a lie.
He’d mastered the blade once. He could do the same with a ball.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Coach Owens’ voice boomed across the pitch. "Alright, everyone. Center up!"
The players jogged in from all sides. Cleats crunched against turf. Breath misted in the cooling afternoon air.
Julian joined the huddle, sweat clinging to his neck, his pulse still thudding from the last sprint.
Coach Owens stood in front of them like a general before his army.
"Good work today. Solid intensity. But we’re not there yet."
He paused, letting the weight of silence do the talking.
"In two weeks, our regular season begins."
A ripple of energy buzzed through the group.
"But before that, next week—we’ll hold three practice matches, back-to-back. That’s where we separate talk from action."
Some players straightened. A few exchanged quick, nervous glances.
Coach’s voice deepened.
"These three games will determine our starting eleven."
Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Another battleground.
Another door to kick down.
"So show me what you’ve got," Coach continued. "All of you. No favorites. No guarantees. You play, you earn."
He looked directly at Julian.
"And newcomers—don’t be late."
Julian didn’t flinch. Cael, next to him, gave a short nod of acknowledgment too.
"Yes, Coach!" both said in unison.
Owens let the moment settle. Then—
"Alright. That’s it. Hydrate, recover, get outta here."
The players started breaking off. Some groaned in relief. Others stayed behind for a few extra kicks.
He stood still for a second longer, eyes locked on the sky.
Two weeks. Three matches. One goal.
He didn’t come here to warm the bench.
He came here to climb.